Shadows In The Mirror
by SotF
Summary: Through the darkened mirror, twelve colonies launch their own monstrous agenda, the flight of those attacked finds an ally who has stepped from the shadows and into the light. Nations of man will meet in battle unlike any they have yet seen.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** This is a crossover with a fan created extension of the Shadow Force Archer campaign for the Spycraft RPG. Most of what comes from that part of it will be explained as the story reaches it.

This is also takes a semi-mirror universe approach to the nBSG universe. I am ditching the normal final five and going elsewhere with this so there will be things that are very different than in the series.

* * *

_AAS Fafnir, Nocturn System_

Captain Jacob Archer surveyed the blackness as his ship glided through the void.

Only four planets had been in the system, only one of which had been suitable for colonization of any sort, but the two asteroid fields had proven to be the bounty making the system for those looking for a profit.

He was proud of his name, one of the descendents of the founders of the Alliance and of those who willingly fought in the shadows to protect humanity from horrific fates.

However, the limelight was never something he'd wanted, coasting through the academy less on his actual work and more on his name.

He was an Archer, and from Conrad and Raymond to himself, they had served and had ended up in high places enough that those wishing their favor never cared whether he'd actually had the same level of talent or skill his ancestors did.

Nocturn was still having its birthing pains as a part of the Archer Alliance, the single colony supporting hundreds of minor mining bases scattered through the fields, not to mention the freestakers working on their own apart from the corporate mines. Because of the abundance of traffic in the mayhem of the asteroid fields, it also held another danger beyond the tumbling rock.

Pirates prowled, searching for the unwary to strike and steal before fading back into the stream of ships on normal business.

Jacob had spotted one such ship and ordered a pursuit, only after three days towards the outer system, he'd lost track of it long enough that it had apparently gated out.

Transmitting the pirates last known course and speed, he'd been forced to wait.

In the outer asteroid, gate calculations were tricky and without the computers of the starports or navbeacons, the pirates tended to keep track of the more stable pathways and use the same calculations until either end of the gate points became to well known.

Naturally, locating those points also became a priority for those trying to stop the pirates and he was stuck days out with a relatively small crew watching the spot.

Three weeks of a slow circular patrol of the most likely spots for the pirates gate point without anything to show for it.

"Sir," came comment from the sensor station in a surprised tone, "Something really odd just popped up..."

"Popped up?" he asked while walking from the captains overlook and to her station.

"Not sure what it is, but there was a series of spacial distortions and..."

"Gating?"

"No sir," she responded, "Almost like it was empty and then things appeared, no wormhole detected."

"Put what appeared on the holo," he ordered while turning to head back to his position, "And switch to more intensive scanning of the area."

"Roger."

"And Erika," he added while resuming his place on the overlook, "Keep sharp, I've got a feeling."

"Understood."

He glanced at the projected image hovering in the center of the bridge as the display shifted from the local segment of the system to their immediate area and then down on what had arrived.

"Well," he commented, "Those look like ships, but none of ours."

"They remind me of starfish back home on Earth," Nathan Walker muttered from his position in the pilots well, the surrounding screens giving him a more direct view of the craft.

"Transmit data to the colony's relay and take us in closer," he ordered while leaning against the rail, "Any ideas what they're using to communicate with?"

"Picking up a lot of signals, not sure what most of its for," Erika Hunter commented from her position.

"Begin a sequence transmission, try to figure it out, if nothing else we can try using psionics"

"Sir?" came Ben Michaels from his position, "If they're hostile?"

"Get the fighters into standby," he ordered, "And prep drones for launch, that should be enough but we aren't going to provoke unless we have to."

"I've got something," Erica commented, "Seems almost Greek, but twisted quite a bit."

He nodded at her, "I'm giving clearance for psionic contact then."

She relaxed for a moment, chocolate brown eyes closing for a moment before her eyes started flickering as if dreaming and flashes of pain crossed her pale features.

A trickle of blood from her eyes before they opened once more, "I've got bits of the language, but..."

She took in a breath and tried to force her heartbeat to return to normal.

"But?" Ben asked from the other side of the bridge.

"Lots of fear, well, fear and paranoia."

A moment of silence swept across the room as they processed what was said.

"Can you send a message?" Jacob asked after what felt like an age.

"Yes, what should I say?"

"Let's start simple," he muttered before regaining the usual strength in his voice, "How about 'We come in peace'?"

* * *

_Cylon Base Star_

The Fall had happened so fast, she mused, "And quietly."

Now, in hindsight, they could see the opening moves of the Colonials against them, the first seeds of their loss.

After the armistice, the Cylons had finished development of infiltrators to gather intel in order to prevent another war, and they had begun to view themselves as nearing the strength needed to wage war again according to a few of their number, perhaps if the correct excuse could be given they would have started the fight rather than the Colonials.

Then one of the infiltrators, a One, had vanished off without a trace and it seemed like his disappearance may have just been a glitch.

However, then others began to vanish and they had decided to take a closer look at the resurrection net to try for the problem.

But the disappearances continued and then it happened and understanding came.

Battlestars seemed to swarm into their space, knowing exactly where the Cylons gathered.

If they were just there to attack or even destroy, the effect wouldn't have been so wrong.

But, they had captured, and intercepted transmissions early on showed what their plan was.

Their president had spoken of the recovery of their property and that the Cylons would never be capable of rebelling again.

The feared ships came not as soldiers, but as slavers.

A small number of ships had managed to run, fleeing for their lives into the unknown and taking their fates into their own hands.

As far as eight knew, there were only nine free ships, and only one of them a Resurrection Ship while billions were lost and countless more enslaved once more.

In their haste, they simply didn't have the manpower or supplies to rebuild and it was already a struggle to keep up with the damage done by simple travel, fuel supplies were failing as well. Weapons were all but expended before they managed to get out of their own space.

As they jumped in system the sensors picked up life, humans.

The fleet was split, three basestars as scouts while the rest remained with the resurrection ship, and that may have been a good idea with an inhabited system.

But the Colonies were nearly two months behind them which confused her as she projected the image of the nearest ship, merely moments away and turning towards them.

The symbology seemed similar in some ways to the familiar colonial standard adopted shortly before their rebellion, but vastly different in others.

A transmission flashed and the ship tried to translate before it repeated.

It took her a full minute to understand what was being sent, a standard communications packet with audio gibberish that must have been an attempt at verbal communication.

Then she blinked as a pressure seemed to touch her mind and a presence similar to another cylon on the same network, and yet alien.

She gasped for air, hand moving to her eye taking a droplet of blood from her eyes before the signal changed again.

"We come in peace."


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** For those wondering about when the change began, think at least a year before the beginning of the miniseries. The Colonial Invasion began a week or so before the election when Richard Adar would have been elected.

On a side note, with this version, the Stealthstar incident was the trigger for the normal universe unlike this one.

* * *

_AAS Republic, Earth Orbit_  
Offices, be they in a building or in the ship the Alliance used as a capital, always seemed to keep the same apparent look over the centuries, he mused.

"It's been some time old friend," the man behind the desk commented while staring out the observation window at the green and blue jewel below.

"Yes, nearly a century Conrad," John responded as he settled into one of the chairs, "To many old demons from long ago."

"Yes," the older man responded, though looking barely in his thirties rather than the nearly five centuries he'd lived, "The return of the Architects was unexpected, and the awakening of X within you once more..."

Both of them were psions, Conrad Archer the sole remaining prime and of the physical adept strain while John was something more, one of the two survivors of something granting pieces of all three strains. Physical immortality was one of the benefits both would have sacrificed if they weren't still needed.

"Anyway," John Hunter pressed, "What's this about?"

Sliding a folder across the desk to his compatriot, Conrad grinned slightly.

"Would you believe we might have encountered others tied to the Ancients?"

"With all of the crap encountered since before World War II, it wouldn't surprise me," he answered while picking up the file and flipping it open, "Any hints from the Guardians or Thule?"

"The Guardians of the Whispering Knife have nothing on it, and the library of Thule is the same," the man commented, "However, there had to have been a reason for why it had the basic info on the higher travel rites."

"So how do we play this one now?"

"Well, they're on their way to the Sentinel system at the moment," Conrad paused while slipping an amber bottle and two glasses from a desk drawer, "Lothario is on his way to meet them on DaVinci Station during quarantine when medical gets a chance to go over them."

A brief pause as the younger of the two blinked in realization.

"They seem to be clones and you want me to go," he asked.

"I'd hoped so," Conrad answered while pouring the liquid into both glasses, "Your integration with One should help you understand them."

"Why didn't you send Two?"

"He's otherwise occupied with Raymond on a project of theirs, Aurora is there as well."

"So I'm stuck with this because you're kids are up to something," John grunted before accepting a glass.

"No," he stated, "The arrival of these Cylons means that we may need to speed up the design phase of the next generation of ships."

"You have them working on getting the command ship series going," he asked with a groan, "It figures, and I'm the one least likely to start a fight of those you'd send."

"And to keep an eye on the Lord of Mysteries."

"What has Algernon done now?"

"Lothario is more concerned that this is another Architect plot than in diplomacy."

A brief pause as both took a drink.

"And besides, your granddaughter was on the ship that met them."

"There is a damned good reason I didn't want a family and didn't want to stay in contact?"

"Her death wasn't your fault John."

"Just like the actions of Villain X weren't my responsibility?"

"Let go John, you have a family. Don't throw them away."

"It's not throwing them away that's the problem," the other stated, "I'm not willing to have their deaths on my hands if the strains resonate."

A brief pause as he downed the rest of his drink.

"This is some good stuff," he commented, "What is it exactly?"

"Mead actually," the older man commented, "Jacob got me hooked on it after giving me a bunch of it as a prank a decade ago."

"Figured you hung out in the mead halls when you were his age?"

"Something like that."

A brief pause as he set the glass on the desk, "So when do I leave?"

Conrad just grinned in response.

**

* * *

**

_AAS Fafnir, Sentinel System_

The world rippled as the ship passed through the wormhole his ship generated after watching the newly arrived Dragon open and maintain one for the Cylons.

Wormhole or gate drives were interesting, and while Jacob didn't have the mentalist strain''s gifts nor any sort of real understanding of the Fringe tech that mixed to create the drives, he understood the basics.

It was a serious power drain to form a wormhole, but once formed as long as something solid was inside of it, it remained open. That allowed the use of a more energetic fuel that burned to quickly for normal use but could give the momentary burst needed to form the wormhole, something more of a throwback to the solid fuel rockets of early space exploration and some of the weapon systems still in use.

Slugs of refined fuel were used, each allowing a single jump.

The other limitations of the drive had dictated several rules for ship design, such as the egg like shape even with the engines flattening the rear and the curved winglike pontoons that extended wider than any other point on the ship to open the gate large enough for them to pass through.

While the Fafnir wasn't large enough to open a gate for the Base Stars, the Dragon was fully capable of it, and had even been designed to open gates for some of the larger things needing passage between the stars.

However, the Dragon and other carriers of its class had always made him feel small, especially in a patrol craft like the Fafnir.

"Sir," Erika commented, "Sentinel Control is giving us course orders."

"Send the path to the pilots well," he ordered while the path simultaneously appeared as markers upon the holo, "Forward the ones for the Cylons as well."

It wouldn't do for those people to have survived what they said and to die because they disobeyed traffic patterns in a military system.

Sentinel was the only Colony to not have a true voice, or even really be recognized as one.

It was essentially a military base, all inhabitants retained voting rights in their home systems and beyond military personnel, there weren't that many inhabitants other than on the Gulag moon that still served as one of the primary prison complexes of the Alliance.

Of course, he supposed, DaVinci station was primarily a civilian station, but it operated more as a central medical organization and hospital that could be moved with the Dragon to any colony needing its aid.

"The Cylons have confirmed coarse."

"Good," Jacob stated, "We're almost home people."

He paused for a moment, "Have Gamma flight launch and head to the repair yards as soon as we clear the gate zone."

"Sir?"

"Of the on board squadron, their ships are due for heavy maintenance," he commented, "Might as well send them out now rather than forcing them to triple the distance at DaVinci."

"Get us a link with DaVinci," he continued, "Make sure they have the translation protocols before we dock."

"Understood."

**

* * *

**

_Cylon Base Star_  
For a moment she felt sick, the gates these people use for FTL was disorienting and for a moment she couldn't feel the network, a moment of feeling as if half her senses were lost.

And then she felt them again.

The other had joined them when these humans proved not to be an enemy, at least on the surface.

Their tech was different, an entirely different source of ideas leading to even a different way to travel the stars.

Eight's eyes widened as she saw what was around them.

Hundreds of ships of different shapes and sizes milling about in system, they seemed to have the almost angelic, swept wings arching forwards either open wide, folded next to the hull, or in the process of shifting between positions.

Others stood beside her, simply watching as the sun seemed to rise over the nearest planet.

Was this the new home they had hoped for?

**

* * *

**

_Colonial Battlestar Pegasus, Picon_  
Cain frowned as she read the report.

The hunting fleet had been forced to temporarily fall back in order to refuel and rearm before continuing the tracking of the cylon escapees.

Toasters that still needed to learn their place

"Don't you agree?" she asked with a grin at the figure curled up in the corner, "Gina dear?"

A shudder when through the cylons features reminding the admiral of just why she'd burned so many favors in order to keep that specific Six.

"What mistress?" the fire had already died from her toy.

"That the rest of your kind still need to learn their place," she grinned at the defeated form, "At their rightful masters feet."

Gina closed her eyes and hid the anger for a moment, there wasn't a choice in how to respond.

An affirmative was the only answer she could give that would limit her former lovers response from the more dangerous options.

Cain was inventive when annoyed or angry, and since being captured and then bought, those actions had already killed her three times.

"Yes mistress."

She couldn't let herself cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** For a description of the Alliance FTL, they open a wormhole between points. As long as the gate has something in it, no power is required to maintain it, but it does still shrink to the size of whats passing through. Therefore, they need to position the wormhole generators at least as wide as the widest part of the ship and in the front.

Alliance ships normally tend to look like a squid with its tentacles wrapped back around the body while opening wide when they gate, those "tentacles" can open wider to allow other ships through, in fact carriers like the Dragon are designed to do so to a much larger spread in order to allow other ships through.

* * *

_DaVinci Station, Sentinel System_  
Doctor Lothario Algernon stood on the observation deck watching the ships arrive.

The interconnected sections of the space station held nearly a hundred extending ports of varying lengths for such things, and they were interesting to watch.

From its origins as the pet project of someone named for the genius, the station was more of a combination of several. Segments were made to be detachable and be moved to worlds in need before being brought back when the crisis was over.

It was the largest station in the Alliance with the Republic coming as a close second.

Hell, the capitol of the Archer Alliance was as much a ship as a station.

With the amount of spreading the sons and daughters of Earth had done, none was willing to let another colony become the capitol, so a compromise had been made and the roving city station came to be.

In recent decades, he'd come to prefer the relative quiet of the Sentinel system rather than the bustle of the Republic.

This new group concerned him, cyborg clones and robots gave him the horrid thought of what the results of the Shop and the Architects working together.

But the Shop was centuries in the grave, all accounted for and the reason for their work resolved.

The Architects of the Fringe, well, other than an uprising a century ago, they had vanished off the face of the Earth and the fringe was to quiet for them to be tromping around anywhere nearby.

But this was still unusual, something that fit the profile in some ways and yet didn't in others.

And Conrad didn't trust him to see the real picture.

He'd send John Hunter, someone Lothario viewed as less stable than most operatives.

After all, he'd had an artificial personality implanted in his head which led to a third made of pieces of both that took over and went on a rampage.

It was true, however, that some of the mystics had worked and apparently merged John and One into a single being in order to, hopefully, erase Villain X from existence.

But the Lord of Mysteries never did trust mystics, nobody who worked with the fringe as he had trusted them, and the reverse was just as true.

"Doctor," came the calming alto tones of the creation of someone he'd asked to help figure the newcomers out, "The Cylon craft have docked."

He nodded and glanced at the holographic figure standing there.

"Thank you Cleo," he responded before turning towards the door.

Cleopatra was the first true AE that had been developed, and even then, she was essentially a month old.

Her creator, Marcus Alexander was interested in three things, two of which came down to making machines more human and the reverse. From replacement limbs and the bio tuning of the militaries power armor to Cleo.

The third thing was rather evident from the name of the Artificial Entity he'd created.

Egypt had fascinated the man even though he'd never set foot there.

Perhaps, Lothario considered, that was because of his name.

As it was, Cleo wasn't truly standing there.

Her core was elsewhere in the complex and a small drone with a holoprojector was there under her control.

Entering the elevator a figure there surprised him.

"Hunter," he managed to comment without the irritation present in his voice, "You used the Mystic Express I see."

"Yes," came the response as the younger looking man turned towards him, "The Guardians are the best at what they do."

The doctor observed him for a moment.

"Conrad didn't tell you to come unarmed?"

"This is lightly armed," John Hunter responded, the glistening metallic sheath over his body seemed to dance as quicksilver, "I cannot leave the axe behind."

What had once begun as a Shop experiment, a damaged relic being used for the construction of a nanite weapons had slowly grown into a new armor after bonding with John over a century.

"We aren't trying to start a war."

"Lothario," John commented, something that reminded him of the distrust for him that a lot of the others had, "It's not me that they're worried about."

**

* * *

**

_Cylon Base Star_  
"What's taking so long," one of the sixes wondered out loud.

"Weren't you listening?" Eight asked with a glance at the blond.

The glance back had her rolling her eyes.

"They're being careful," she continued, "And I agree with the idea, until they're sure we aren't likely to get them sick, or the opposite, we aren't having open contact."

"So what?" the six asked, "We're stuck on the ships?"

"For a little longer, they want to test our immune system and make sure we aren't contaminated or would be contaminated."

She paused.

"We didn't come this far only to die because one of their diseases kills us when we could prevent it."

Eight blinked as a brief flash of data crossed the network.

"Docking complete," Six commented, "I believe that now is the moment of truth."

**

* * *

**

_AAS Dragon, Nocturn System_  
Alan Booker blinked at the maximum range sensors.

The Dragon wasn't well armed for its size, designed to be protected by a fleet while playing host to a larger number of drones, fighters, and bombers. With an invasion scenario it would be able to carry dropships and other landing craft as well if needed.

Alone was always a concern with a ship of its size, at least there were other ships due within the next day, others on alert to drop current duties in system if the worst happened.

He wondered just what the hell the Cylons were running from, and if it was connected to the sensor ghosts that were leaving him feeling quite paranoid.

Or were they really out to get his ship?

He wasn't really certain on that note.

**

* * *

**

_Baltar's Residence, Caprica_  
The gods had to hate him.

The past few months had shaken him, and now he'd finally gotten a few days of freedom.

He found himself drinking again and pondering how he'd walked through Hades.

It had started with an invitation to see something after he'd been in a debate on allowing AI research again.

Then they showed him the Cylons they'd found, and they looked human.

Cells full of people screaming, tables where some were being examined.

It was a nightmare, one he couldn't escape.

They threatened his funding and credentials if he didn't help.

He'd sworn to never be forced back to how he'd come from Aerilon, and would still have run from what he was being shown.

It was the threat of being forced to assist anyway, an Admiral had cited some law about refusal being treason.

He wondered if they'd damned him or damned himself.

Something had to be done about it, what he didn't know, but something had to be done about it.

**

* * *

**

_Battlestar Pegasus, Picon_  
Jurgen Belzen grimaced as he walked by the hatch to medical.

A glance had shown the Admirals pet being patched up again, something that made him shudder.

He knew some of Helena's history, and her current actions were a bit worse than he'd believed.

Cain had taken the revelation of Gina as a cylon badly, a personal betrayal even with some of the things now known.

Hell, the reports said that most of the skinjobs didn't even consciously know it themselves, but Helena didn't see it that way.

She was crushing the girl, breaking every part of her and making her into less than the toasters that others called the cylons.

He remembered the stories told by his father of the war, and hadn't feared the Cylons. They were an enemy, one to respect because if you didn't then they could take advantage of it.

But this, Admiral Cain was taking things personally.

And their new orders, to take command of the smaller fleet still pursuing the fleeing craft, were not helping with the state of her sanity.

* * *

_AAS Dragon, Nocturn System_  
Alan had had two days on site and boredom was already beginning to set in. While space travel was described and portrayed as glamorous, fun, and exciting, most of the time you were simply sitting there with little to do.

Much of the time, the sensor operators had the most to do, and that was simply because they would be able to be bored of the new scenery first. The Fafnir's report was making the crew more intent on getting info out of that same position.

"Multiple spacial distortions," yelled Nathaniel Matthews from his position at said spot on the bridge, "Similar to the Cylons drive type, but off..."

"Off?"

"I don't think they're quite as precise if they're attempting to keep a formation," the man responded while bringing the info up on the screens, "Contacts are extremely different from the Cylon designs though."

He blinked, mind filtering through the stories the refugees had given.

A slight shudder of the hand upon the rail looking down across the bridge as Captain Booker considered what could be at the gates.

The ships didn't have the living appearance of the Cylon craft, these were closer in appearance to the warships of the Alliance, especially with the heavy guns that his own craft lacked.

"Time until relief?"

"The Alamo is due in ten to twenty," came the response.

"Bring us to combat status," he ordered after a moments thought, "And set the translation matrix in the comms."

In a flash the lights dimmed, turning from their normal brightness to the dim crimson that should aid in maintaining their vision should they lose power but left the world appearing almost as if it were doused in blood.

The simulations back in command school and the images of the war with the Architects.

Ships cracked open and crews fallen to the void when their ships failed.

The doors to his left and right hissed open to admit the full bridge crew as their stations lit up.

Standard operations used six crewmen.

Pilot, Sensors, Engineering, Weapons, Support, and the Captain.

In combat, the crew needed there increased to nine. A second handling weapons while dividing the job between offensive and defensive. Sensors and communications were divided, and a second on Support to divide the load of managing the squadrons of fighters and drones.

Other than his position and the pilots well, the situation left the bridge relatively cramped.

"Matrix set?" he asked the newly arrived comms officer.

"Yes," came the response, "Ready for active translation."

Alan was thankful for his crew, most of them had been together long enough to allow the formalities to be suspended in hostile situations.

"Begin broadcast on all frequencies."

"You're live."

A brief smirk crossed his lips as a few of his men chuckled at the comment.

He nodded at the man and began to speak as clearly and with as much control and command in his tone as he could.

"This is Captain Alan Booker of the Archer Alliance Ship Dragon," he stated, thankful that the voice only method meant they could watch him sweat, "You are in our space."

A brief pause as he closed his eyes.

"Identify yourselves and remain in position."

They didn't seem to even be slowing down.

"Please state your intentions in our space."

A cutting motion signaled the end of the transmission.

"Line silenced," comms stated in response, a statement that they had stopped broadcasting.

Alan breathed deeply, trying to keep himself from losing focus.

"Any response?"

"They seem to be slowing some," Nathaniel commented from sensors, "I'd reckon they don't know what to make of us."

"Deploy drones and fighters in a defensive screen," he ordered while settling backwards into the chair behind him, something meant as a safety measure for battle, and locked the harness in position, something mirrored by the rest of the crew, "Have the gunners begin targeting solutions."

"Orders relayed," came the response as the drones seemed to materialize on the holo display of the area as a cloud of almost dust particles around the Dragon, "Should I hold the hanger doors until the squadrons are ready for launch?"

"Open rear doors," he responded, "Keep us facing those ships."

Forcing himself to relax, Alan tried to think of what to do next while his throat felt strangely dry.

"We need a line in the sand," he commented.

"Boss?" Nathaniel asked with a touch of confusion.

"This is our space," he responded while feeling the calm return, "Mark a line halfway between them and us, if they cross it..."

"Roger that," came the response.

"Let me try talking to them again."

"Transmitting."

"This is Captain Alan Booker of the AAS Dragon," he stated with a hint of menace in his voice, "If you do not stop and talk, you will be fired upon."

**

* * *

**

_Raptor 132, Nocturn System_  
"What the hell are those things?" Alex Quartararo gasped as he spied the smaller things blasting into space, though remaining close to the unknown ahead of them.

"No idea how they can be piloted," the pilot stated before the wireless crackled and an unknown voice cut through a second time.

"Think the Admiral's listening?"

"Three battlestars and the rest of the fleet against that thing?"

Crashdown blinked as he noticed something.

"Radiological alarm?" the pilot commented.

"Those fighters are armed with nukes!"

* * *

_Battlestar Pegasus, Nocturn System_

"What the frack was that?" Jurgen stammered as the radiological alarm chimed before crashing.

"Multiple detonations," came the response from one of the other officers who managed to keep her head after the show, "All nuclear."

Helena Cain's response was something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Get that thing out of our way!"

**

* * *

**

_AAS Dragon, Nocturn System_

"Sir, unknown warships have fired."

Alan grimaced as he took in a breath.

"Activate laser defense system," he ordered, "I want those missiles taken down."

"Understood."

A brief pause before the confirmation signal came.

**

* * *

**

_Raptor 132, Nocturn System_

A half dozen nukes erupted from the trio of battlestars.

It was more than enough, in Crashdowns mind, to destroy any warship.

But he was wrong, all of the missiles seemed to flare brightly before exploding long before the warheads could properly detonate.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Note:** I'm putting a link to a quick bit done to show the basics of the Templar Missile Frigate in my profile for those interested.

* * *

_Nocturn System_  
Ordinarily, the Slepnier class fighters had the general appearance of a dagger, cockpit buried under layers of armor with slender wings spreading out from either side for optimal space for the pods for specific uses. The design had more of the hallmarks of the older bombers, but with its ability to ride herd of a pack of drones, the role was primarily of a heavy fighter with the drone swarms playing interceptor and escort.

The four missile pods, two mounted on each wing, gave it a more ungainly look while removing most of the resemblance to the atmospheric craft, but allowing it many times the firepower that anything forced to maintain aerodynamics could hope to sustain.

The Dragon only carried three squadrons in its limited role, though if it hadn't been pulled from duty as a traveling gate generator, that would have quadrupled, same with the drone compliment.

"Hound," she yelled over the air group comms system, "Cover me!"

Creed accelerated her fighter to full when the enemy fired their nukes, "All squadrons, break by pairs and prepare for combat."

The responses were easy to spot as the lights on the HUD projected within her helmet lit up in response before fading out, letting the background projection of local space remain.

"All Preds," she commented, "Guns free."

This time the only response was a red light switching green, signaling the combat mode activation of the Predator Drones.

Predator's in all their lethal glory were unimpressive to look at, essentially being a spike with engines and cannons with a single light missile apiece. They were named in honor of some of the first drone combat craft from history.

However, the design had yet to see actual combat after being brought into service during the clean up after the Architects War.

Another series of flashes brought her attention to the lead ship of the enemy formation, one the systems tagged as Pegasus.

"More missiles inbound on Dragon," she stated, "Tank, your squadron has intercept, maintain cover of the Dragon."

A series of curses from members of her squadron and a few from the other squadron leads.

"Roger," came the response as one third of her forces fell back, spinning while temporarily cutting thrust before flaring their drives again to reverse direction.

"Everyone else," she commented as her HUD flashed red, "Lock on and flash when ready."

Again the confirmation lights flashed.

"All fighters," she stated with a deep breath, "Fire."

Twenty-four missiles lanced out into the void between the fighters and the closing fleet, each of them designed for the elimination of an enemy craft no larger than a small courier, but lethal in dealing with fighters.

"Creed," she heard the steady voice of her second, Hound, "Jumps detected."

"Enemy reinforcements?"

"No," came the response, "These guys don't use jumps."

A flash on her HUD as two more ships materialized.

"Seems like the Templar are getting involved," she stated over the air group channel, "They're friendlies."

"Feels better to have more than one cap ship at our back."

"Yeah Baker," she answered the second squadron commander, "But back to work."

* * *

  
_Saint Michael, Nocturn System_  
"We're just in time it seems," Crusader Daniel Walker muttered as the cruisers observed the situation developing, "Contact the Saint John and start getting firing solutions for all tubes."

The Knights Templar had been the allies of the Alliance since before the conspiracy had stepped out of the shadows, but old methods had been hard for them to drop. They had remained apart rather than risk becoming beholden to the new state when a similar act had nearly wiped them out early in their existence.

With some hesitance from some portions, the Alliance had allowed them to step back and operate, and they had claimed a few worlds of their own while occasionally trading until the Architects had attacked both them and the Alliance in their quest for dominance.

Unlike their brother nation, the Knights ships held the appearance of a medieval fortress or gothic cathedral rather than the almost squid-like form of ships such as the Dragon, building the jump systems into spikes extending from the hull rather than the expanding pylons of the Alliance.

They also held a different doctrine in how to fight, rather than the heavy guns, drones, and fighters that the Alliance favored, the Evangelist-class Cruiser packed eight-hundred missile tubes around the octagonal profile it held with a preference to use a broadside rather than the focused on forward arcs.

"Saint John copies," came the answer, "The Dragon sent a request for combined nets."

"Good," he stated, "Tie into the combat net."

"Enemy escorts moving to intercept."

He nodded slowly as the holoprojection of the system changed and more information poured in, "Switch to combat status."

The lights flickered before stabilizing as a blood red that gave the white uniforms the same blood red of the symbol of their allegiance.

"Solution ready."

Another nod as he adjusted the combat straps.

"Open fire," Daniel commanded, "Full rolling broadside, switch targets when one is downed."

* * *

_AAS Dragon. Nocturn System_  
The ship shuddered as the second wave of enemy nukes slammed into the ship, the efforts of the interception squadron pairing it down to a third that got through to slam into the third hanger bays forward doors.

Plating vaporized in a flash and the door collapsed inwards allowing straggling missiles to slip through the opening and into the relatively unprotected interior.

"Bay three is inoperable," came the report, "Adjacent decks open to atmosphere and possible radiation hazards."

"Reassign all non-squadron drones to interceptor duty," Alan ordered with a rasp while feeling pains in his chest where he was yanked against the harness, "Send crews to contain the damage."

"Sir," came the yell as the display of the two Templar cruisers expanded for a moment before the sensors confirmed what was happening, missiles poured out as the ships began to rotate.

It was a simple way to accelerate fire while allowing more time to reload the numerous tubes the Knights used, the motion bringing fresh tubes into firing position and empty ones out, letting them reload with ease.

Unfortunately, Alan mused, the Templars didn't pack nukes in their arsenal, but repeating waves of a hundred ship killer missiles was a sight to see as they slammed into the nearest enemy ships and leaving bursts of death where they hit.

"Laser recharge cycle complete in five seconds," came another statement as two of the smaller enemy escorts went up, flaring bright for a moment before the lack of oxygen ended their crews pyres as quickly as they began before three more joined them against the flood of death the Templar were capable of sustaining for as long as their munitions held up.

"Sir one of the enemy motherships has positioned itself to attack the Saint John!"

His eyes turned to the display as the enemy's railguns opened up, tearing through the missile cruisers lighter armor as if it were tissue paper, but the dying ship continued to fire, even shifting its fire to its killer in an act of defiance while its hulk spun and flared its engines one last time in an act of defiance.

The Tritons guns continued to fire into the rapidly disintegrating craft before it realized what was happening and began an awkward turn before the smaller craft plowed into the starboard flightpod.

"Jesus," Nathaniel commented at the display, "Those things are gonna be hard to take down."

"I know," Alan responded after a moments silence.

* * *

  
_Hades Facility, Earth_  
Conrad shivered as he stepped out of the docking bay of Hades and into the armored lift.

The arctic had proven to work as a prison, or at least the depts beneath the ice did.

Entirely made of psionic dampening materials and tech from gadgeteers, mystics, and even division Nihl with a cost that matched that of the entire run of Carriers. It made all other prisons seem a joke, and only a few select prisoners were housed within the walls of Hades.

His own abilities were useless as soon as he'd stepped into the lift that would carry him from the surface installation and through the ice and ocean to the floor.

The doors opened with a hiss and he stepped into the waiting area as an escort joined him, leaving the impression that he was a very small being next to the nine foot height of the power armored guard assigned to him for the meeting that was to come.

He felt naked as well, no powers or weapons were available to him, both of which it had been centuries since he'd been without, but he needed to be here for this.

The slight sniffing from another guard reminded him of that as he glanced at the Fenran.

Once they were enemies, the gene soldiers the Architects of the Fringe had created in their cloning vats rather than risk themselves upon the mortal plane.

When the war ended, they had over a million of the beings without a purpose, and they were still, primarily, human.

It disgusted him to think of what had been done to them, animal and human DNA precisely mixed for the traits they wanted. For all their horror, the Architects were truly masters of twisting the spiral of life into something deadly and dangerous.

One of the worlds with a lack of resources other than fertile soil on the outer reaches of Alliance space had been handed over to the Fenrans and help had been given in preparing it for colonization.

In the years since, it had proven to be a profitable situation with exports of foodstuffs to other worlds, not to mention the newer generations of the genesoldiers maintaining their eagerness for combat making them suitable recruits in the eyes of the military ground forces.

In the prison, however, the few Fenran on staff were primarily of the lupine stock with their sense of smell being seen as an asset, not to mention the half dozen prisoners of their species housed here were essentially forced into viewing the staff members as the alphas and betas of their pack.

That was one of the things the Architects had used to form their units, each as a pack under the leaders of their choosing.

A shudder rippled through him at that thought, such things were a violation of his beliefs and the ideals of freedom he'd fought for and given his life to.

At least the Fenrans, of all varieties, seemed to have been brought into the fold with little in the way of complecations.

However, he considered, if his suspicions were true, there could be problems if the genetic traps the Architects had left in were not all weeded out.

The Cylons did not bare the marks of Architect manipulation, however, their designs did hold similarities that kept returning to the madmen that had clashed with the Alliance for centuries.

That concept had brought him here, to one of the few beings who knew the Architects without going through Lothario.

He mused upon his friend, the Lord of Mysteries was a survivor of the the incident that had warped the Fringe and sent a group of scientists deep into the fringe itself.

How the man had escaped both the corruption of those events and the insanity the others held was a mystery in and of itself, but Lotharion Algernon had fought them from the first, finding his way to the Archer Foundation so long ago and founding Nihl to counter their machinations.

"He's ready for you," came the comment from the guard.

"Good," Conrad Archer responded as he walked towards the position he'd been pointed to and walked inside.

"Hello Fade," came the voice of the creature he'd fought long ago and had been brought back by the twisted monster that later possessed someone he had loved.

"Demagogue."


End file.
